Direction: Jean Bertho
If we moved to the provinces, we'd be free from that mess!
No, thank you. I'd rather have traffic jams.
I'd like to try provincial life.
Not for my whole life.
- Yes. - No.
Yes, I would agree.
I would move.
What for?
- Yes. - Not in the North.
- In the South, yes. - Sure.
Moving to the provinces is my dream.
The air is filthy here.
I have a one-hour commute twice a day.
The motorway's jammed on week-ends.
Forget going to the cinema, you can't park.
One could have one's own house there, one's own garden,
the sea down the road.
We'd go swimming.
They're offering me such a good job.
That's something else. A good job, of course...
He managed to convince her that they got married to share a life,
as long as it was his life.
So finally, she packed her trunks,
only to find herself in an unknown town,
in a strange house.
I've met about 100
of these brutally uprooted Parisian women.
Most of them had the same first thoughts,
shed the same first tears,
and spoke the same first words.
At first, it was really terrible.
That winter was very hard,
very cold.
If memory serves me well, I wept as I moved in.
My first winter was rather sad.
I felt very bored.
My husband was offered a position, so of course, I followed him.
Work is essential to a man's life.
I didn't choose to move to the provinces.
I followed my husband.
And I arrived...
We had never lived in a large residential development.
The neighbourhood was...
They said it was expanding.
But all I could see was the prison,
the cemetery, the neighbouring station,
gardens overturned by building sites.
It was hard at first but it's OK now.
I cried a lot.
I was born in Paris, right in the centre of Paris, actually.
I came to live in this house.
I had to draw water from a well. It used to be here.
It was quite a change.
Our first winter?
It was really made of week-ends in Paris.
We did nothing but wait for the week-end to go to Paris,
to see friends and go out.
To be honest, during the week,
there wasn't much.
Shops disappoint you when you come from Paris.
We're spoilt.
Lovely products at varied prices. No such thing in the provinces.
Shops weren't attractive in the provinces.
I enjoyed Parisian antique shops, strolling through the Village suisse.
You can't find such things in the provinces.
Even clothes shops aren't very enticing.
Yes, I missed my lovely hairdresser,
my dressmaker, my dentist.
I had my little routine.
My neighbourhood didn't have many good shops.
The ex-Parisian will need at least 6 months
to find a good butcher's, away from Rue Lepic.
But once she's found it...
Once you've seen it all, set up your home,
you aren't as busy,
then boredom might set in more.
I can't see it.
But maybe I can't see it because I'm blind.
I can't understand the way she's reacted.
All day long,
I work.
Whether I work in a factory here
or in Paris, my life is exactly the same.
My reactions are the same as in Paris.
I couldn't feel,
except when I slipped in the mud on my way home,
I couldn't feel any change in my life.
As my wife
loves me, if I'm not mistaken,
as she loves her son,
as her son and I are happy here,
I think that, as a consequence,
she should be happy too.
Now that I live in the provinces,
my office is only 5-10 mn away.
It's wonderful.
It saves me a two-hour commute, at least.
During that time, I can do something else or even nothing.
He goes to the cinema at times, and there's football,
on Sundays.
For a man,
there are only advantages to leaving the big city.
Work conditions are much better.
Factories are usually lighter,
commutes shorter.
You don't have to drive back to Paris in the evening,
with all those traffic jams.
For a man, it's very good.
The man has taken his work,
along with his life.
The woman has taken only herself.
She can only find herself on the threshold of her new life.
Loneliness, not really,
but it felt like living like an older woman,
to be retired, so to speak,
to be waiting for the end,
the end of what?
I started to read a lot here.
You need to figure out a way of life.
And it's... You...
You need time to figure it out.
You need to get used
to your own company,
to try
and realise things better,
to understand what you can.
I thought I'd be on holiday forever.
But I was very disappointed when winter came.
Winter means dampness and fog.
The fog is quite depressing.
I don't like the weather.
The weather doesn't agree with me.
I lost 7 kg the first year.
Much too foggy and rainy.
Not enough sun. But you don't notice it in Paris.
The climate isn't good in Paris.
It's probably not as pure, but we prefer it.
After 2 years of feeling stifled in the mountains,
I strolled through Place de la Concorde and I could breathe again.
I felt at home.
I walked down the avenues, along the banks.
Everything I loved was there.
It felt like a resurrection.
Since I came back to Paris, I'm a changed woman.
Some of these uprooted women are already back.
They couldn't adapt to provincial life,
they couldn't make friends.
It's widely known that provincials are usually very cold.
It's very difficult to get to know them.
Really, they didn't welcome us very well.
You must be used to their personality. They're stand-offish and very cold.
Even if there are exceptions, usually, they stick out of the crowd.
They are distrustful.
Very closed.
I like Parisians. They're usually beautifully attired.
There's that. I don't know.
I like the city better than the countryside.
But here I am.
I believe that Parisians are prejudiced though.
Whatever comes from the provinces is ignored.
Oh yes, it's the Parisian state of mind.
They don't mix with others. We enjoyed the theatre in Paris.
We went there occasionally.
During our last year in Paris,
I saw Gog et Magog, as far as I can remember.
I went to the cinema each week in Paris. I never go here.
I don't miss it at all though.
My goodness, never.
I never go to the cinema here.
Many of these exiles
miss neither the latest comedy,
nor the latest movie.
They miss advertising columns,
and cinemas' bright islands of lights on the Champs-Elysées in the evening.
They don't miss the goods displayed in shop windows.
They miss feeling tempted.
You own them through your eyes only, but still, you own them.
You get into the shop.
That life. Life in Paris.
Even if...
Indifference exists, the great indifference of Paris.
Still, there's this life, movement.
You can't explain a stroll through Paris with words.
You'd need to be a poet to explain Montmartre,
it's impossible.
Walking through the Marais,
spending the afternoon along the Seine banks,
it's spellbinding.
You can't find it elsewhere.
I'm not so sure about that.
That environment,
each time we talked about that Parisian environment,
while we lived in Paris,
we talked about the underground, traffic jams,
fines you got for parking in a restricted area.
I can't remember her saying, while we lived in Paris:
"I love walking along the Seine banks."
She used to say:
"you can't cross the road freely",
"you need to be so careful",
always complaints.
She never sounded satisfied with her Parisian environment.
I loved it.
I felt part of it, I belonged to it.
Here, sometimes you end up...
Boredom seizes you.
Maybe it's... Something I haven't mentioned.
Before we moved here, my wife worked in Paris.
I'm convinced that when she gave up
her position,
she lost something that belonged to her.
Of course, a woman working in the provinces
doesn't have the time to think about drawbacks,
and feel lonely,
like one who doesn't work.
Indeed, had I accepted the job
offered by the vicar to whom I spoke,
I would have felt much more fulfilled,
because I would have felt useful and integrated
into my parish.
I wonder whether I'm sincere
about wanting to work because...
One day though,
even the ones who don't work,
finally forget their longing for Paris.
And so, their eyes open on the provinces' offerings.
The sun shines all day long here.
It's incredible. It's what's struck me most.
That light.
We play tennis, go to the swimming pool.
We go fishing or bathing in the Loire river.
Just a quick drive,
and you're out in nature, you can go for a walk.
It's impossible in Paris but it's possible here.
I wouldn't want to move back to Paris.
I won't move back.
I would hesitate.
I would hesitate to leave.
Nothing has won me over in the provinces.
I love Paris twice as much.
As they don't all move back,
you also get to meet women who slowly, seamlessly,
can feel themselves becoming provincials.
I feel like a provincial when I go to Paris.
I've lost the Parisians' rhythm on the underground.
Watching them is fun.
I watch them live their lives.
Is that a provincial state of mind?
Maybe I've turned into a provincial already.
We have become provincials, we live in our little provinces,
and when we see Parisians, sometimes we feel a bit inferior.
At first, I was very proud of my Parisian status,
but now,
I enjoy enough things in Orléans to get a sense of pride from them.
My goodness, no, I wouldn't move back to Paris.
Subtitles: J. Borge, E. Fuchs & N. Guechi